


What Seas Are For

by RonnieWriting



Series: A Tide of Ice and Blood (spinoffs/ prequels/whatever) [1]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies), Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (well some of it ;) ), F/M, Frozen AU, Game of Thrones AU, Ina wouldn't even exist if it werent for Jae so bb this ones for u xx, Ina's backstory, Ina's parents, Memory Loss, and any other angel that's sticking with this mess of an au, before canon, lol imagine this started as a ka au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25801204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieWriting/pseuds/RonnieWriting
Summary: Set 5 years before the canon events of A Tide of Ice and Blood- this is Ina's story of her life in Northaw before she met Jarri and the rest of Kristoff's gang.
Relationships: Ara/ Terren, Jarri/ Ina, Original Character/ Original Character
Series: A Tide of Ice and Blood (spinoffs/ prequels/whatever) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1877479
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rohirrim_Writer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rohirrim_Writer/gifts).



> crash course in Northaw: the westernmost village in The North, sharing its edges with the shore of The Red Sea, the Winterwoods, and the smaller northern mountains- its also the home of Maren and Ryder.

She woke to the sounds of groveling and snorting, air slick with sweat and pungent shit- but it was nothing against her last waking memory;  _ the only one she had _ .

As she came to the sense that she was lying among the mucky trotters of pigs, the details of before stirred in her clouded mind.

There was blood- that she was most certain of. There were also women- at least a dozen of them- with bald heads and olive skin like her’s.

Some were crying, others singing songs she didn’t know, but each time one of them was led up to the figure on the pyre- they were calm and quiet. 

As she sat up among the sows, the image of the figure on the pyre corrupted all her senses and it felt as though her skin was on fire. He was unlike anything she could have prayed to remember- giant and all like man except for his great head- white bearded and muzzled, with yellow eyes and four long, crooked horns protruding from the crown of his head.

He had called up one woman each day in front of the crowd that circled around the pyre. And she watched with the other women beside her as each of them were paraded on the platform, stripped of their rags and the recital began.

The horned man called out a different word for each woman: on the first day there was  _ “Voltama” _ . On the next day, it was  _ “Voltrima” _ . After her,  _ “Voltnika” _ ,  _ “Voltmyra” _ ,  _ “Voltiya” _ .

The procedure that followed was the same, the first,  _ Voltama’s _ , came as a lesson.

After the girl was strippped, she was bound and berated by her audience with venomous words and animal waste and stones. The horned man sang and spoke in foriegn prose as lit his torch from a magic powder and after he was clear of the pyre, he set it aflame.

The crowd of all ages- croning women and suckling babes- would watch their spectacle scream and cry as she burnt with smiles on their faces. 

On the sixth day of the burnings, she had escaped. How she did so escaped her, but as soon as there were shouts of threat-  _ “ _ **_Wargs_ ** _!” _ \- and she was left alone for a few precious seconds, she ran.

Looking now at her wrists she saw the deep red marks of the rope she was bound with, its pain finally sinking into her body and mind.

And now- she was here. Among pigs and shit…  _ “such seems to be the way of this new world I’ve found myself in.” _ she thought.

She was ready to be met with her sure fate when light flooded her eyes as a great tarp was pulled aside and the sheltered pig cart was exposed to the blearly light of morning.

A great man looked in at her shocked, “ _ this is it… _ ” she thought, “ _ here and now is when I die- let it be quick. _ ”

But the man’s eyes changed when he looked upon her face and past her baldness and soiled rags. He reached towards her and tugged her to her aching feet, looking only at her face, then measuring her build. He said nothing to her, but she quickly figured out what he was by the sticky substance on his arms and rolled sleeves, the ready rope he grasped in one hand and the crude knives on his belt.

_Butcher_.  


“ **Give me your name, child.** ” there was no harshness in his voice but there was strength- and an undoubtable threat. His language was murky to her memory but it’s meaning was as clear as the sky blue of his eyes.    
The words rolled clumsily off her tongue, “ **I do not know my name** .” she might have learnt it had she stayed tied to her tree. 

She expected him to be angry at her ignorance. She looked ill- a young woman grown with no hair, wearing nothing but a filthy shift, one that did not know her own name and slept among swines. He’d be wise to do anything with her  _ other  _ than listen.

But he only hummed, looking over her once more before lifting her out of the cart and setting her on her feet. 

Her tender soles screamed on the hard dirt and she was sure that they were cut and already infected. The man was not so great now that she looked up at him as he deftly opened up the back of the cart, looped the rope around one fat pig's neck and led it too into the open before shutting the gate again. He was only a head taller than her and quite lean for a man that looked to be middle aged. 

He looked to her again and led her by his free hand to a mound of hacked tree logs by the fence that surrounded his property, “ **Sit here.** ” And with that, he left her, tugging the pig behind him through the large door in the side of what looked like a great barn. 

She sat, relieved to take the pressure off her feet, and took in her surroundings. The plot of land neared a forest edge where the terrain slowly turned to deep snow and climbed into mountain faces and peaks that spanned far into the distance. The barn itself overlooked the rest of the village, a dirt path winding down the small hill towards a maze of similar looking buildings that feathered out towards what she noticed was a shoreline. It was a beautiful sight- so calming that she forgot, only for a moment, that she was waiting for a knife carrying man who belonged to a community that would set her on fire to come back to her.

She imagined herself running like only hours before. How far would she get into the forest behind her before her legs would give out? Her lungs? Before she was chased down by a wild animal or that man with blood on his arms?

But she wasn’t left to think long- the sound of a pig squeal and low talking was by soon enough and the man reappeared from the doorway, bucket in hand.

He said nothing to her, only grabbing her hand and prompting her to follow him.

“ **Come, child** .” The man said and he guided her towards the door like a lamb for the slaughter.

Inside, a wide, stout woman chopped away at the fresh carcass of the pig that had entered before her. 

The man beside her cleared his throat, “ **Ara** .” and the stout woman turned to meet the both of them. The woman named Ara was round with hard muscles and womanly curves, a mix of softness and firmness in one figure. Her face rested on the same harmony with black hair as coarse as a mule’s and eyes soft like fallen clouds. She was wearing a dark, sleeved dress with decorative cording and a thick leather apron over the top that was splattered with the traces of animal innards and grime.

She spoke with a soft voice, eyes stunned and wide at the sight of her, “ **By all the Gods and their winds-- Ina?** ” 

~

By some gamble of the Gods, the woman, Ara, and her husband, Terren, had just lost their daughter to the warg attack that previous day. Their daughter’s name was Ina.

“ **She looked just like you, dear.** ” Ara told her that night after they shared hearty soup. Terren was at her feet, he had just finished washing them and was now quietly and gently wrapping them with a cotton gauze. “ **Just as pretty and tall.** ”

The both of them seemed to avoid asking her where she came from, she wondered if they’d even seen her and her sacrificial company- would they still liken her to their daughter so willingly? “ **Ina is a lovely name.** ” she said.

Ara smiled at her, nodding, “ **It was my grandmother’s.** ”

After Terren had finished cleaning her of blood and muck, he took her to the stairs that led to the rooms above the workshop. “ **The folk call this the** ** _Red House_** **,** ” he told her, “ **we slaughter stock and butcher and sell to all kinds- bakers and traders and farmers and herders and commons alike**.” Terren pointed to the first room, “ **Ara and I have this room.** ” He opened the one after it, letting her walk in, “ **You can have Ina’s room for the night, I will lay out clothes for you in the morning and then we can talk about- you.** ”

And with that, he left her in the room. 

She fell asleep quickly that night, lulled by the muffled talking a room over. No doubt, they were deciding what to do with her. Their kindness would run dry and she would be sold to a brothel or a kennel master for feed -or, much worse- they’d tell the horned man about her. 

These people had an affinity for blood and fire, it seemed. Basking in any form of  _ body warmth _ their cold world has offered them. 


	2. Chapter 2

On her first morning she had been so determined to prove herself worthy of keeping: up before the first light, scrubbing at anything she could find that was stained red. She hadn’t even bothered waiting for Terren to lay clothes out for her, instead going straight to the oak chest in the corner of the room and tugging on the first things she grabbed.

Ara had come down the stairs to find her with blisters already popping up on the inside of her palms and practically had to force her to sit down. 

“ **The folk don’t know our girl was taken yet- she was mostly unnoticed. And we’ve no close family left…** ” Ara explained as she prepared her workspace with salts and strange herbs. “ **It’s a great shame to be under a warg’s shadow.** ” 

_“Here it comes- Now is when she’ll cast me out.”_ she thought, bracing, trying not to cry.

Ara must’ve seen the colour drain from her face because she tried to brighten her tone. “ **But we’ve learnt to make peace with the disgusting nature of our beloved Gods, no father is more just than He- And since you’ve come, by the Mother Herself--** ”

“ **_You’ll_ ** **take our daughter’s place**.” Terren said as he joined them in the room. Unlike his wife, who was dressed for the workday, he still sported his night clothes but with the modesty of a great woolen and fur coat. He had the clothes that were intended for her slung over his arm- a bright blue linen dress with corded cuffs like Ara’s and around the collar were the same stitched animals that decorated the top of Terren’s great coat.

What compelled her to run at him and throw her sore arms around him in a thankful embrace was utterly lost to her. 

But Terren’s arms came around her, steady and comforting, and she realised then that she was crying.

  
  


Quickly, Ara and Terren became more than fake parents, they felt real- like they had always had a place in her life.

Behind their door, she could hear them mourn, crying that night for their true lost daughter. But come the new day, they’d kiss her head and call her _Ina_. 

Terren would check and tend her wounds once each morning and night and Ara would secure a thickly knit wrap around her head to conceal her baldness should anyone see her.

On her third morning she had woken, however, Ara also draped a shawl around Ina’s shoulders and her harsh apron was replaced with a linen one. “ **We’re visiting the Gotthi this morn.** ” She told her, checking the pin in her own headscarf. _“Strange,”_ Ina thought, _“she’s never worn one before.”_

“ **The Gotthi?** ” Ina had progressively gotten used to their tongue but this word was unlike any other. 

Ara explained, “ **Widowed witches who work under the Gaot and for the Gods. They are like healers and common witches but their magic is much more- special.** ” And they set out into the thick of the village of Northaw.

It was a sweet place- save for their sacrificial habits- with air fresh with the salt of the sea and humble with the effort of working people. The morning was bright and refreshing despite the chill that rolled off the mountains. 

Young boys bound around her as she walked with Ara, playing games with woven bands tied round their foreheads and crudely whittled sticks. They sang as they whacked at each other and their passers by:  
“ **Come and see, come and see**

**The stones are singing, come and see**

**Come and see the stones as we throw them**

**For we know what the seas are for!** ”

After the boys had trot off, a few smaller girls were chasing them with thin sticks of their own and monstrously contorted masks streaked with grass stains.

There was a tugging at the hem of her skirt, and when Ina looked down she saw one of the peering up at her through the eyes of her mask. 

Ara grinned at the sight as she knelt down to the level of the tiny girl. Ina asked her, sweetly, “ **Can I help you, little one?** ”

She nodded her head with enthusiastic vigor and thrust a shiny pebble into her hand, her little voice muffled by the mask, “ **You need a stone to throw!** ” 

“ **I do?** ” Ina asked.

She nodded again, “ **It’s been three days, everyone must be prepared!** ” 

Ina grinned, enjoying the little one’s game, “ **Where shall I throw it?** ” 

The little girl stared at her through her mask. Then she sighed and pulled it up, revealing her pink face and dark hair, “ **Have you never been told the story?** ” Ina glanced at Ara, who was busy accepting a stone from another masked girl. “ **The mountain children threw stones into the Red Sea one hundred million years ago- stones bigger than all of Northaw- and every few years, one washes up.** ”

Ina turned the pebble in her palm, “ **What is on the stones?** ”

Her stern, little expression brightened, “ **The _Vol_!**” And with that, she ran on to the next person in her way to offer them a stone.

Ina rejoined Ara, pebble hot in her hand, “ **Ar- Mother?** ”

“ **Yes, love?** ” 

The little girl’s tale would rot away her brain for days if she didn’t question it. So she began with: “ **Are the mountain children real?** ”

Ara took her arm, leading her along like a lost lamb, “ **As real as Ismuts and Ulmans and Karnn... but we will not be throwing our stones this day.** "

Ina faltered, wondering if she should ask more on the girl’s story. _“Would she think I’m stupid if I asked if Ismuts, Ulmans and Karnn were real? Too stupid to pass as her beloved daughter?”_

It was safer not to. 

  
  


Ina expected a strange woman to open the door they stopped at, but the figure on the other side was like everyone else they had passed on the way. Her hair was long and red, but with little bells woven into the knots. Her dress was unlike the ones she had become used to- it was all black, as if it were covered in soot or charcoal.

The woman waved them both in with a chime in her hair. Her house- if it were a house- was blanketed in darkness the moment she shut the door behind them. Ina thought how if anyone stayed in here long enough, time would be lost to them. 

Their only light became the flame of the candles that seemed to grow on every surface with roots of wax. The Gotthi’s eyes caught the light like ice under the moon, and they glowed.

“ **What can I do for you, children?** ” She asked, smearing her fingers in a bowl of sage ash.

Ara sank to her knees at the feet of the woman. She looked up at her and slowly unpinned the scarf from her head, letting it pool around her shoulders.

Ina almost gagged at the sight that was revealed.

Ara’s head, once covered in thick black hair, was now red and raw. In the low light of the candles it looked like it was burning, bubbling like a pot of fat. 

The Gotthi took her mother’s head in her hands, smudging lines of black where she skimmed her fingers. She inspected Ara’s head with a coldness, “ **A barbaric scalping- not clean, not ours.** ”

Ara glanced at Ina before her eyes fell closed, “ **The rogue Vol.** ” The Gotthi’s hands tensed against her mother’s skin. “ **She came ‘cross our stead that night of wargs- and practiced her dark magic on us before she fled to the forest.** ”

The Gotthi looked to Ina, “ **Show me your harm, daughter.** ”

Ina had never felt a fear like this. The little girl's stone story- a rogue Vol Ina had never seen- _Ara’s abused scalp_ \- _Her own harm?!_ She didn’t know what to do- what to say. Her baldness wasn’t violent, as if there was never hair there to begin with; her harm was mental but forgetting wasn’t the work of dark spells- _right?_

“ **My Ina is a girl of little words,** ” Ara’s voice rang brilliant and clear through her panic, “ **show the Gotthi your** **_soles_ ** **, love.** ”

Ina hurried to toe out of her boots, exposing Terren’s meticulous work on her bandages. The Gotthi patted a spot on the edge of her altar where she wanted Ina to sit, she did so, nerves screaming for air.

Ina nearly gagged truly this time- under the wrapping of cotton gauze sweltered ugly blisters and around the edges of them, her skin scaly and cracked. She was baffled- the pastes that Terren had applied to her feet every night were soothing, and everyday the pain was less so; but her soles told only the opposite to healing.

“ **_Monsters._ **” The Gotthi turned away from both of them, plucking jars from her shelves in the half-light. Ara stood and helped Ina off her altar just before the woman returned to her sacred surface, bells singing with intent as she moved. 

While the Gotthi buried herself in mixing and cushing and reciting a string of chants, Ara squeezed Ina’s hand. 

The look in her eyes was reassuring and comforting- like this woman could see right through her and hear every thought in her scattered mind.

  
  


When they found their way home again, the sun had been carried to the centre of the sky. Both of them cradled a small pot in their aprons, scarves wrapped tight once again.

As soon as the heavy door of the Red House was shut behind them both, Ina spoke up, “ **What was the meaning of all of that?** ”

Ara removed her headscarf again and took her pot into the room that Ina had seldom been in. There were carved chairs with furs and hides thrown across and a hearth unlike the large one in the workspace- this one was clean, its purpose more than cooking. 

" **White lies** **not for your concern, Ina- neither of us were** **_actually_ ** **touched by Vol.** ” She told her smoothly.

“ **Then what of your head?! My feet?** ” 

“ **Both, my work for your sake.** ” Terren said behind her. The efforts of his workday clear on his skin and clothing, still fresh on the blade of his axe.

“ **You see, love,** ” Ara stepped closer to her, taking her pot from her, “ **Gotthi magic is unmatched, and we now have a highly valuable mix for Vol curses.** ” 

Ina’s brow furrowed, “ **But- my feet--** ”

“ **Will be fine as soon as I reverse my efforts.** ” Terren solved. “ **Your mother will have her own hair.** ”

Ara gestured to the pot intended for herself, “ **And we will be able to grow yours**.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning for the next (and last) chapter to be mostly about Ina and Jarri- because that's really what I wanted to get to, but these are the boring, messy details that establish Ina's character so they are important(ish)
> 
> YOU- YES YOU- ARE LOVELY IF YOU HAVE NOT ONLY STUCK WITH ATOIAB FOR THE (eventual) KA, BUT IF YOU'RE HERE FOR THE WHACK WORLD I'M FLOUNDERING IN- I LOVE YOU MOREEEEE


	3. Chapter 3

As Ara had promised, the Gotthi’s elixir prompted beautiful, wavy black hair to grow from her barren head. Within only a year, it had already fallen halfway down her neck.

Ara’s hair did not fare as well. Without the Gotthi’s magic for her own scalp, and despite Terren’s greatest efforts in mixing healing remedies, her hair refused to flourish- so an alternative solution was called for in order to keep them from the suspicion of the Gotthi.

That night would forever be with her, ingrained into her senses. The texture of the mule hair hanks in her hand, the crackle of the fire in the little hearth. The smell of fresh blood. 

Ara had refused to look at anything but a single log in the fire as her husband started at the base of her skull. Eventually, she was numb to it- but that did not stop each string of blood that trickled down her face with each stitch.

And now, a year passed, her mother’s crown had calmed down and no one was the wiser. 

  
  


Unlike her mother and father who worked by the sounds of their labor, Ina liked to sing. Her songs were mostly wordless, their melodies flowing as natural as breathing; but there was one song she liked to sing over all the others.

She sung in to herself as she made her second trip out to the boar pen near the front of the Red House, “ **Come and see, come and see~** ” 

Terren told her the meaning of the song when he had found her singing it one day.

_ “ _ **_Long before the ages of men, there were only the Gods and the young land. Each God had their children: The Father, his three wolves, The Mother, who carried the first men as only quickenings then, The Ghost, with her cold, and The Son, who gave many, many kin._ **

**_The Children of the Mountain were once one of them._ ** _ ” _

Ina unlatched the gate, unaware of the figure that approached on the dirt path up their hill, “ **The stones are singing, come and see~** ”

_ “ _ **_But the Son was jealous of the mountains for they became home to flowers much more beautiful than any in his forests._ **

**_You see, the Nordfjellet- the tallest mountain- was once even taller, so tall that each day, when the sun passed it, it would catch on the Nordfjellet’s peak. And from that piece of chipped sun would grow magical, golden flowers._ ** _ ” _

She looped her rope around the old, fat sow and led her out the pen, “ **Come and see the stones as we throw them~** ”

_ “ _ **_So to make The Son of The Forest happy, they ventured out of the trees, climbed the Nordfjellet and started throwing the stones at the very top into the Red Sea._ **

**_Those pieces became known as the Sea Stones- they were empty of life… but only for a little while._ ** _ ” _

“ **For we know what the seas are fo--** **_Gods!_ ** ” Just before Ina could take the boar through the doors, she bolted with the last of her strength, ripping the rope from her grip. 

Though her work at the Red House had established some muscle in her, it was nothing for the task of wrangling a boar. 

Ina flung herself at the animal all the same, earning a face covered in muddy snow and some kicks to her ribs. 

As the boar began to buck her and drag her through the slush she heard a rush of advancing footsteps and the weight of the animal was hauled from her in a flash of swift movement.

Her saviour could not have been either of her parents; Ara was making deliveries and Terren was out hunting and would not be back till dusk. The sound of her thanks was drowned out by the squeal of the pig and the familiar cut of a knife.

Before Ina could come to her feet, she was scooped up by her underarms like a child and set on her feet.

“ **Are you alright?** ” The voice was deep and even despite his rush.

She tried to look up at him but the mud had caked her lashes even as she rubbed at them,“ **Yes, I’m fine, thank you.** ” 

The old sow lay dead in the mud, a clean stab in her shoulder. Ina started forwards to take the pig so she could resume her work but her side flared in pain. The boar had kicked her harder than she had thought.

She swayed dangerously near to falling but the man’s arm steadied her, “ **You don’t seem alright.** ” he insisted. Then he bent down to lift the big with one arm, “ **Let me take this in for you.** ”

Though partially vision-impaired, she led him around the back of the Red House and through the workshop doors with little challenge. With similar ease, Ina made her way over to the trough to splash the muck from her face. 

When she turned and could finally look upon this stranger’s face, she was lost. There were many handsome men in Northaw but she had yet to see any with hair as soft-looking and warm, with a nose both wide and bridged.

His dress told her he was no local. There was almost no linen or cotton on him- only fur and leather.

He met her eyes from the block. Then, they traveled lower. All the way to the boots on her feet and then back again. 

He looked to be searching for something to say, so she solved him- she had work to do, “ **Were you after anything other than wrestling boars?** ” 

He blinked, stepping away from the block. He opened his mouth to answer but frowned when he watched her pick up the knife, “ **You took a hard kick- are you sure you should be-** ”

“ **Don’t worry about me.** ” She told him, swinging the knife up before bringing it down heavy on the animal’s neck. “ **I’ve had much worse.** ” Another hard lop completely beheaded the boar. 

He watched her hack up the boar, neglecting his purpose there. Strangely, Ina was overcome with the sense that she could  _ feel _ each of his thoughts. Glancing at him affirmed he was silent, lips pursed and eyes distant in thought- but it went beyond recognising when someone was deep in thought or brooding or contemplating their next words.

She could only liken it to thunder and the sensation of being shaken with its echo.

“ **You sing well.** ” He finally told her, shyly. He must’ve thought, too, how strange it was for such a sweet sentiment to come when there was mud in her hairline and blood creeping under her nails. “ **I must confess I was actually waiting to hear you finish the song before I came to patron you.** ”

“ **_Finish?_ ** ” 

His face fell, “ **You don’t know it in full?** ”

Ina shook her head, no. In the entire year she had been here, she’d never heard it sung by anyone other than children. Her own father hadn’t even corrected her when he told her the story it told.

He sighed, and blushing, started to half-sing her song:

“ **Come and see, my children of the mountain**

**The stones are singing, come and see**

**We birth them again like bitch and her get**

**And drink their calls for gods they forget**

**Come and see the stones as we throw them**

**Never forget what seas are for…**

**the unfrozen~** ”

The song seemed to be about something  _ entirely  _ different then. There was sadness in his voice, it was no doubt a song of many importances, “ **I grew up hearing it that way from my mother and father- but I much prefer yours.** ”

She decidedly avoided sounding like the alien in the North she was, “ **Does yours still tell of the Children of the mountain?** ”

“ **Yes… among other things.** ” He watched her with finality as she dumped the limbs of the boar into a similarly filled ice bucket, stepping in without offense to help her hook the carcass on a large hook. “ **I am here with objection,** ” grinning down charmingly, “ **as much as I did enjoy your voice.** ”

Ina wiped her hands on her apron, glad of the shift in conversation- for this was something she understood, “ **Meats, fats or bone?** ” 

“ **What have you in the way of a caribou?** ” 

Caribou were a rare sight in Northaw for they never passed the treeline on their migratory circuit. They were much more common in Ahtohall. 

That was not to say that there was none of their product under this roof, “ **What in particular?** ”

“ **Hearts, Tails, or Shed velvet?** ” It looked to make him unease just speaking of what he was after.

_ “Perhaps he is a more sinister man than he lets on…” _ she thought. Faking looks of disgust could be easy for wicked Karnn. 

Her weariness struck him, “ **My mother is a Gotthi,** ” He offered, “ **some spell work- offering.** ”

Ina’s smile returned truer than before, “ **I’m sure I have what you need.** ”

  
  


Somehow- through surely what could only have been a spell- Ina found herself feeling more than the tremor of his thoughts. His hands radiated warmth even through her layers as they roamed at her waist. His lips were impossibly warmer but less adventurous. 

It happened as soon as she took him to the storage pantry full of stock for such special orders. The shelves were lined with rows and rows of jars and pots of everything from a bird’s talon to still born lambs, and they were all either preserved in mixes of salt or water from the Red Sea that was blessed by the Gaot himself. 

All valuable goods that she was now pressed back against as she relented to melt into him. 

And then, if only to torture her, he pulled away.

“ **Why did you stop?** ” Ina demanded of her handsome stranger. 

His eyes were shadowed with want but his sigh was responsible,“ **I’ve wronged you-** ” until this day- Ina had never known such irritation to someone she had come to care for however prematurely, “ **First I was spectator to your voice and now I push myself upon you when our relationship should only have been business.** ”

He began to pull away from her fully and Ina scowed openly, “ **You undermine me.** ”

With a hand now empty of purchase against his form, she yanked up the hem of her skirts. Tucked to the edge of her boot, as it had been for a year now, was a nimble knife. “ **You may have watched me get kicked and thrown but that would not have been all if I was as good at wielding this as you are at jumping.** ” His mouth floundered without direction and Ina found herself coming to enjoy this side of her previously unexplored, “ **Had I, at any time, felt that you were** **_pushing_ ** **onto me, then you’d be across my block right now. And my mother could sell you in town with the pig.** ” 

He kissed her again, this time with the surge of lightning in him.

  
  


Though it felt like they had spent a century in that cupboard, the sun had barely traveled further across the sky when they both reemerged. 

“ **What is your name?** ” He gambled the question before she could think to do so. 

Her stranger was on his way out, loaded with the three jars he had paid her well for; and despite their  _ connection _ she had already prepared to handle the loss of him,“ **You’ll only need it if you are planning to see me again.** ”

He had no apparent plans, “ **And if I am?** ”

“ **It’s Ina,** ” It was sweet: the way that he could simultaneously be the reason for a new found part of her, and its weak-points, “ **after my great grandmother.** ” 

“ **Mine is Jarri Bjargson.** ” He spoke as if this was the pinnacle of formal first meetings. 

His grin was so confident that she actually had to ground her heels in the dirt to resist wiping it from his face herself. To further her counter to his boldness, she matched him, “ **You seem unreasonably sure that I’ll have use for it.** ”

Jarri nodded, serious, “ **There is will in our Gods.** ”

“ **And what do they will onto you, son of Bjarg?** ”

  
“ **That though I leave this day with my mother and sister, someday… I’ll be leaving this place** **_with you_ ** **.** ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, Jarrina was born!!!
> 
> granted, this fic actually turned out to be more lore than jarri x ina content (and 100% there was room to expand on the jarri and ina scenes) than I had originally planned but it happens lmao
> 
> I am kinda iffy about the shift in Ina's internal story between the first and last chapter but it is an important factor that a year has passed since Ina came to Ara and Terren and she has done a good bit of growing in the meantime.
> 
> And ya know, some pairings have to have that quickburn like this bc lbr this doesn't even begin to balance the slowburn I have in the works for KA in this universe.
> 
> EITHER WAY, I really hoped anyone who took the time to read this enjoyed it! And to my lovely Jae, have the bestest of birthdays because I don't know anyone who deserves it more than you, queen!  
> I've said before that Ina wouldn't exist if it weren't for Jae and honestly- nor would a lot of things in atoiab so this won't be the last time I write something so plainly written for the enjoyment of my goddess!

**Author's Note:**

> EE I hope you all enjoy this little tangent I've found myself on as I scramble around the next chapter for atoiab- but as I'm sure you lovelies can understand, an amazing friend's birthday (this week eee this is early but fiddle faddle, there's more to come of it) is reason enough to write something all for them!  
> Giving Jarri a wife and naming her Ina was Jae's idea in the first place so all this fresh tea wouldn't exist without her top tier input!
> 
> Happy Birthday (week) Jae!!


End file.
